Too Big
(Rubenesque if one were feeling charitable)
for invisibilty
perhaps my realm is more mundane
a bridge; driven,
ridden, walked over
daily by hundreds
Pigeon grey statue
posted over town square
dappled with refuse
avian and bottanical
tilting misguidedly
after static windmill.

p.s.I insulted the gangster ladies’in my hood’s welfare benefits when they threatened to stab Dopeman’s dog. Dopeman repaid me by expounding loudly and in depth on my stupidity with a room full of witnessess.

p.p.s. I broke my promise to visit my friend tonight. I was exhausted but in hindsight I prettymuch hate myself for not going. I really wish I hadn’t flaked, and not just cause I would have avoided conflict with the neighborhood pta.


{August 3, 2011}   Forgetting to land

According to the Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, the trick to flying is a) fall and b) forget to land. Lately I’ve been excelling at column A and failing miserably at column B.  My day started with a leisurely pre-work ride to the clinic courtesy of my brother.  Dopeman and the Skank graciously allowed me to throw “their” bike in the bed of my brother’s truck, as my riding home from work at one A.M. saves them the ten dollars I usually need for a cab.  (“More money for smack-yippee!!!”  squeals Skank, jumping up and down while clapping.  Nah, not really, but she did open her eyes halfway and mumble “yeah….take the bike…baby can I get some morezzzzzzzzzzzzz…..”)  Now don’t get me wrong, as my car does not exist, my heart wells with gratuitude so strong it’s almost painful when someone is kind enough to offer me a ride.  That said, hopping in the truck with my brother after his third day of no food or sleep and lots and lots of methamphetamine is taking my life in my own (or his extremely shaky) hands.  We’re flying down the freeway, weaving in and out of those assholes who can’t be bothered to drive more than fifteen miles over the speed limit when the phone rings.  I grab the wheel, my brother starts crying and punching things and we pull over asap. Turns out his seretonin, nutrient and sleep deprived brain was not capable of both driving and processing the bad news on the other end of the phone.  So I’m stranded downtown with fifteen minutes to bike my ass to work before my ass has no work to go to.  (I’ve been in the doghouse hardocore with the boss man lately.)  Oh man.  I biked like I have never biked before; through construction, past pedestrians, hopping curbs, blowing through red lights.  I was freaking amazing!  Then,  a block away from my work, stopped at a red light, I lose my balance and fucking tip over.  Bike lands on top of me, HEAVY-ass messenger bag lands on top of bike, and I unleash a torrent of invective so vile I’m surprised the old lady nearby was  brave enough to ask if I was okay.  So yeah.  I need to learn to forget to land. Two stupid bailouts in two stupid days.  At this rate I’ll be in traction before the summer’s over.  At least I made it to work on time….

I’m a twenty-nine year old recovered-ish heroin addict in the midwest.  I live with three tweekers,  five junkies and myself whatever i may be.  I’m also the only person in the house with a real job.  It may pay minimum wage and involve slinging pornography to men who ate paste in kindergarden and, actually, may still; but no one has complained about my giant dread mohawk and  I actually get paid to debate the viability of George Romero’s theory of zombie evolution as depicted in the film Dawn of the Dead (the original of course). Since I’ve been regaling friends and c0workers with the grotesque, pathetic, unreal, larger than life, cautionary and hilarious tales of life in my house for years, I though maybe I’d have a go at a blog.  I’m not gonna lie, I’m terrified that this will be a colossal failure.  My lonely little words will languish in some dusty dead end, wasting away unread.  If a word falls in the internet and no one reads it does it still matter?  Well fuck it.  I’m going for it.  I’ve lived much of my adult life in hiding (Hello? Almost thirty? Junkie? Minimum wage video store clerk?) So here goes.  My name’s Kate.  This is my life.  I’d love it if you’d join me as I commit literary seppuku ( get it?kate eviscerate?) and spill my guts for all ( or at least someone I hope) to read.

et cetera